Line the generations up like falls furrowing through an old mountain range and try to distinguish the wash at your feet from the rapids above. One thing is for sure. Water rarely runs uphill. Which is to say, looking back through all the generations that graciously led you into being in order to decide where you are is a struggle with less. Less water. Less sediment. Less falls. But the real difference, perhaps the only desirable reason to climb against the current would be for the calm of altitude. The singular silence of it.

Time and time again--and perhaps till the day I die--I try and convince myself to think less. I used to think (there I go again) I wanted to feel less (teenagers!) but the truth is, my thoughts are not completely in my control. It's so easy to parrot phrases and concepts, springing little leaks of information as we swallow the sea. We say "how did you become a zen master?" to a cat at a party or "you think too much" as we slick back our eyebrows and put hot, sloppy moves on some unsuspecting number. But few of us I dare say follow the concept to it's conclusion.

I'm feeling like death on wheels today (witness me!) after some incredibly delicious and potentially tainted Chinese food. But THAT WON'T STOP ME FROM LIVING (right?)! After an incredible week in Western Pennsylvania and a quick stop at a beautiful lock house on the C&O Canal, I'm back but with (virtual) treasures to share.

Though I ate some really substantially impressive meals (and pastries) and was surrounded by more Yinzer stuff than anyone could ever handle, Ima focus primarily here on art farts. I went to two art spaces, one of which is centered around the most popular artist of all time (arguable) and the other featuring work a little less recognizable.